


Uncle Ernie's Psychedelic Luncheon

by Edmontosaurus_Hemingway



Category: The Who (Band), Tommy (1975), Tommy - The Who (Album)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, British Character, British English, British Slang, Deal with a Devil, Demons, Faustian Bargain, Gen, Other, Sandwiches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edmontosaurus_Hemingway/pseuds/Edmontosaurus_Hemingway
Summary: That degenerate Englishman Uncle Ernie has got himself in a real pickle now! The drunkard has sold his soul to a demon to get enough money to pay for a Reuban! Now he'll have to find some way out of this shady deal and live another day. Join Ernie in this gripping tale of action, suspense, romance, sandwiches, goblin, as he tries to outwit a devil at his own game!
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Uncle Ernie's Psychedelic Luncheon

**Author's Note:**

> "Gather 'round kiddies and flickers! I be tellin' a tale that will curdle the blood and shiver the spine!"

The morning light blasted through the broken window, illuminating the pigsty that no one would dare call a bedroom. Surrounded by brandy bottles, half-eaten burgers, and empty egg cartons, laid the lumbering, slumbering beast who owned this cheap domain. Exhausted from a long night out at the town, partying, and drinking booze, he slept soundly like a baby gorilla and was stuck in a blissful dreamland of even more booze. But, said bliss soon ended when a grumble emerged from the titan. It started quiet but it quickly grew louder and louder until it finally awoke the sleeping troll. Although he was groggy from alcohol withdrawal, one thought drove him to get up from his worn down, stained mattress, and with a bellow worthy of Zeus, he made this one thought known to the world.

“Oh blimey! I’m so hungry I can ea' a bloody **horse**!”

And with that, Ernest John Robinette Powell Jr., better known as ‘Uncle Ernie’, clumsily got on his feet and waltzed his way into the cluttered, filthy kitchen to grab a bite to eat. He came across a pot which he recalled was filled with some spaghetti he cooked last week. However, when he took off the lid, instead of seeing some tasty spagett covered with red marinara sauce, all he saw was nasty-ass green mold. Disgusted, he walked towards the fridge in the vain hope that there were at least some cold cuts, but instead, all he found was a dead rat and a packet of ketchup.

“Bloody hell,” Ernie cried, “there’s nothing good ‘ere to eat! **wha' am I supposed to do now**?!” He paced around a bit, debating with himself on how he was gonna fill his stomach so he wouldn’t die from starvation when he came across a small crumpled up flyer on what remained of his couch. The flyer was for ‘B. Wellington’s Roast Beef’, a sandwich shop he recalled spending an all-night bender in last month and which was just down the street from here. Upon seeing it, Ernie’s mouth began to salivate from the thought of eating a piping hot Reuben sandwich, a Cheesy Stuffed Baked Potato, a bag of Salt & Vinegar Kettle Chips, and an extra-large cup of Vimto Blackcurrant. 

Ernie wasted no time, he opened his piggy bank and grabbed some money, put on his nicest trench coat, a wine-stained jabot, and some pants, and bolted out of the ramshackle heap he called a flat and then made his way to B. Wellington’s. It was a long and arduous journey through the mildly blinding sun, the moderate breeze, and cold temperature, but eventually, he made it to the holy restaurant. 

“Oh yeah,” Ernie said, his hunger now metaphorically the size of Jupiter, “Time to chow!” 

He entered the shop, and immediately upon his arrival, all of the patrons in his surroundings recoiled in disgust at the sight of the unkept gorilla and his smell of cheap booze, cigars, stale cheese, and sweat. Some of them even collapsed on the floor, most likely dead.

“Welcome to B. Wellington’s, how may I help-” The overworked cashier began before realizing that the customer he was serving was the same one who pretty much wrecked the place during an all-night bender.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s **you**!” 

Ernie paid no mind to the obvious anger coming from the cashier, as there was nothing but hunger on his mind.

“ ‘Ello, Merv,” Ernie began, saliva now spilling like a waterfall, “Gimme a pipin’ ho' Reuben sandwich, a Cheesy Stuffed Baked Potato, a bag of Sal' & Vinegar Kettle Chips, and an extra-large cup of Vimto Blackcurran' and make i' snappy!”

“Fat chance!” Merv snapped. “I’m not serving you as long I-”

“MERV!” yelled Brian Wellington, the store’s founder, and namesake, who barged out of his office the moment he heard Merv screaming, “What did I tell you about mistreating our customers!” 

“But sir, this is the asshole who wrecked our store!” Merv contoured with, though, this valid point went right over Mr. Wellington’s head.

“He might be an asshole but, at least he’s an asshole with **money** ,” Wellington unironically responded with, “Now serve this gentleman or, you’ll have to **massage** my **feet** again!” 

Disgusted with the idea of touching Mr. Wellington’s crusty, toe jam riddled feet, Merv reluctantly agreed to cook Ernie’s sandwich. 

“Take a number and please wait for your order, sir,” Merv said, sounding dead on the inside. Ernie obliged, chose a number from those number ticket machines (whose name I’ve forgotten), and went off on his merry way. 

Whilst Merv was cooking the meal, Ernie kept himself busy by doing shit like painting on the restroom walls using various condiments, pocketing plastic forks and knives, and drinking mop water. A considerable portion of the other customers had run out of the place screaming, to get away from this depraved Englishman and his degenerate antics.

“No. 69, come get your grub!” yelled Merv, now carrying out Ernie’s order to an empty restaurant. Ernie emerged from the storage closet, which was now bellowing with chemical smoke from whatever Ernie was doing in there. Ernie, upon seeing the sight of the piping hot Reuben sandwich, a Cheesy Stuffed Baked Potato, a bag of Salt & Vinegar Kettle Chips, and an extra-large cup of Vimto Blackcurrant of his dreams began ogling the meal like a cartoon character seeing a sexy lady.

“How much do I owe you?” Ernie asked all excited now that he has some food.

“Let’s see here..” Merv said as he began calculating the total cost of Ernie’s meal, including tax, “Your order comes around to £25.95, sir”

Ernie immediately froze upon hearing that price point, and the fear only grew as he opened his wallet and realized he only had £14 and a bus token.

“There mus' be some sor' of mistake!” Ernie said, “That seems way too expensive for a pipin’ ho' Reuben sandwich, a Cheesy Stuffed Baked Potato, a bag of Sal' & Vinegar Kettle Chips, and an extra-large cup of Vimto Blackcurran'!”

“Sir, I don’t have time for this,” Merv replied, “Either pay for the meal or get out.”

“Err... oh blimey, I.. uh… lef' the res' of me money in the car!” cried Ernie, obviously lying, “I'll be right back!” 

Merv wasn’t falling for it to say the least, “You didn’t come via a car! I saw-”

“ **MERV**!!!” screamed Mr. Wellington, threatening Merv by pointing at his feet.

“I mean, take your time, sir! I have all day to wait!” Merv said to quell Mr. Wellington’s wrath. 

Meanwhile, outside of the restaurant, Ernie paced back and forth and debated with himself on how he was going to get his meal.

‘ _This is very no' good._ ’ Ernie thought, ‘ _I need to pay tha' wanker, but, I need the res' of the money in me couch to pay me bitchy ex-wife, Karen. What is a man to do now?_ ’

“Psst, excuse me, sir, do you have a moment?” butted in a smooth, yet dark and mysterious voice that came out of nowhere, and sounded a lot like Roy Harper. Ernie turned around to see a strange figure had arrived on the scene. And when I say strange, I do mean **strange**! I mean, this bloke had the body of a man yet his head was that of a Jacob sheep’s. Along with that, he also had the tusks of a pig, the tail of a rat, and was covered with dollar green colored snake-like scales. He had spindly six-fingered hands, horse hooves for feet, and was dressed in a generic-looking business suit complete with a club tie and spats on his hooves. He also had boobs. Moving on.

“Who in the blazes are you?” Ernie asked, just as confused as you and me.

“Please allow me to introduce myself,” The stranger began, “My name is Leonard B. Mephisto, and I am a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for many long, long years and stolen a million men's souls and faith.” 

“And your point is...?” asked Ernie, ignoring the stealing souls part.

“I’m here to help you in your time of need, Mr. Powell,” Leonard said, “For my one goal in life is to be a ‘good samaritan’ to all of God’s **brats** \- err I mean **children**!”

“Can you give me the extra £11.95 to pay for me meal?” Ernie asked quickly. 

Leonard chuckled and said, “I can do that and a hell of a lot more! But it will **cost** you!” Ernie grew visibly excited at the offer, though was a bit hesitant due to the oddly cold tone of the last part.

“How much?” Ernie asked anxiously.

“Oh, nothing much, just... **YOUR ETERNAL SOUL**!!!!” Leonard replied now sounding demonic, for some reason.

“Okay, then take i'.” Ernie replied.

“ **OH BUT YOU WI** \- wait, what?” Leonard became confused at Ernie’s nonchalant answer.

“You heard me,” Ernie answered, “Take the bloody thing and give me the money.”

“Aren’t even a little concerned about going through with this?” Leonard asked, still confused about the whole thing.

“Nope.” replied Ernie.

“Do you even know what your eternal soul is?” Leonard asked.

“Nay,” answered Ernie, “I never heard of i' and I am certain tha' it's as useless as a tonsil!” At this point, Leonard was beginning to smile at how much of a dope Ernie was. 

‘ _Hot damn, this is somehow even easier than when I was able to convince that dope, Johann, to do the same_ ’ Leonard thought to himself, ‘ _I’m going to get a big fat raise for this!_ ’

“Alrighty then, all you have to do is sign this contract right here.” said Leonard as he produced a contract out of thin air. Ernie without any second thought and signed the sketchy creature’s contract.

“Congratulations, my friend!” Leonard said as he pulled some banknotes of the pound sterling out of his wallet, “You’ve just earned yourself £11.95!” Ernie early grabbed the money and ran back into the establishment.

“Oh, you’re back,” Merv said, still waiting for the payment so he could avoid Mr. Wellingtons’ wraith for another day. “Do you have the cash?”

“You be' I do!” Ernie replied triumphantly as he handed over the money to Merv. Merv became relieved at this since it meant Ernie could finally leave the place and he wouldn't have to massage Mr. Wellington's feet.

“Thank god!” Merv cried happily, “Here is your piping hot Reuben sandwich, a Cheesy Stuffed Baked Potato, a bag of Salt & Vinegar Kettle Chips, and an extra-large cup of Vimto Blackcurrant, and please have a nice day!”

With that, Ernie took his food skipped happily home now content that he had something to eat. However, unbeknownst to him, Leonard, the mysterious stranger, secretly followed him and, through one of the few unbroken windows, watched him chow down on his Reuben, and Cheesy Stuffed Baked Potato.

“Go ahead my little piggy,” Leonard said to himself, “Chowdown on your fatty carcinogenic meal... Because it will be your **LAST**!!”

  
 **_TO BE CONTINUED..._ **

**Author's Note:**

> What happens next? Find out... when I get around to writing the next chapter. STAY TUNED!!!


End file.
